After using the bathroom, Megumi returned to her futon. Yoshihito was sleeping with his entire belly exposed, and she deliberately turned away.
I hate Mom. She never listens to me, and she’s always angry.
Megumi pulled the blanket over her head and squeezed her eyes shut.
“What happened to the cat?”
Megumi’s chest tightened at the sound of Aoba’s hesitant voice.
Inside the carrier, the kitten was licking its paw, which bore distinct creases between each toe. The paws were disproportionately large for its body, and the imbalance in size was painfully adorable. The kitten, seemingly noticing their attention, stopped moving and stared back at them intently. Its innocent eyes didn’t yet know to be cautious.
It couldn’t be the same cat. It was almost thirty years since she’d picked up Yuki, then abandoned her a few hours later. And yet they looked exactly alike. Fluffy white fur. The black patch around the ear. The shiny slate blue eyes.
How have I forgotten about it until now? What did I do back then? How cruel I was.
“My memory’s hazy about what happened after that. It’s likely I did nothing and moved on. I don’t even remember what happened to the cats my friends adopted. I have no idea what happened to Yuki and the others.”
She retraced her memory in a daze. She was young then, and she hadn’t spared any further thoughts about the cat. She was sure she hadn’t even bothered to go back to the vacant lot. At least she couldn’t remember doing anything like that. How heartless, ignorant, and irresponsible she had been. When she recalled her family’s situation at the time, she thought it was no wonder that her mother had been angry.
The meaning of her mother’s actions that night was clear to her now. Her mother must have gone alone to check on how the cat was doing. She couldn’t adopt it. But she couldn’t help but check on it. She couldn’t turn a blind eye, not as a parent and not as a human being.
Mew. Mew. In the present, a cat was crying. The cat back then, too, must have been lonesome, hungry, and cold. Without understanding the circumstances, she had taken the cat home. She might not have meant harm, but she had been naive. She saw now how foolish she had been.
The doctor, who had been listening silently, lifted up the carrier. He turned it toward himself and opened the door.
“This is a fast-acting cat,” he said, pulling the kitten out from the carrier. He held the cat with one hand on its stomach and used the other to support its hind legs.
“This is how you hold a cat. Their bodies are extremely flexible, so don’t be afraid to hold them firmly. Here you go.”
“Umm…”
The doctor placed the cat in Megumi’s arms. His movements were remarkably graceful, and in one fluid motion the cat nestled against Megumi’s chest. So small and warm. Megumi also noticed it was slightly larger than Yuki had been. It still had the innocent charm of a kitten, but its body was well-developed. After a few moments, the kitten became restless and began squirming and trying to escape.
“Oh no. What should I do? I’m going to drop the cat.”
“Hold on to it tighter. It’ll be fine.”
“Still…”
The kitten resisted being held and tried to break free. Its thin white fur looked less like dandelion fluff and more like an Arctic fox.
“Mom, let me hold it.”
Aoba reached out, but Megumi swiftly turned her body and deflected her. There was no way her daughter could handle a cat that was wriggling so vigorously.
“No, you’ll drop it,” she said, but she herself was fumbling with the cat. The kitten twisted around forcefully, claws clinging to Megumi’s clothes.
“Oh!”
The kitten slipped through her hands, but Aoba skillfully caught it.
“Safe!” Aoba held the kitten tightly. “Wow, it’s so fluffy and tiny. Can’t stay still, huh?” She cradled the kitten, pressing it against her chest. “Am I holding the kitten correctly, Dr. Nikké?”
“Yes, you are. You’re good at this.”
Aoba looked at the kitten and flashed the broadest smile.
“You’re so cute. You’re like a baby. It’s almost scary how small you are.”
Aoba cradled the cat determinedly to her chest with sure hands. The kitten looked up with a curious expression and began to give Aoba’s hand flicking licks with its tiny tongue.
“Wow, it feels rough. Mom, the cat’s tongue feels funny.”
Aoba’s smile surprised Megumi. When was the last time she had seen an expression like that on her daughter’s face? It wasn’t just the smile but how confidently she held the kitten that amazed her. Aoba was actually much better at holding the cat than she was. The kitten could sense this, too, which was why it remained calm. It wasn’t Megumi the cat relied on. It was Aoba.
“Hey, Mom, maybe this cat is Yuki’s kitten. They look exactly alike, right?” said Aoba innocently as she brought her nose to the cat’s.
That’s impossible. What nonsense is she saying?
That’s the type of thing Megumi would usually say. Aoba was still too young to imagine what fate had awaited Yuki. But even if a miracle had occurred, this kitten had no connection to Yuki. It would have been a miracle if someone had taken in Yuki, and miracles didn’t happen.
“Yes, maybe. Just maybe,” said Megumi calmly, holding back her tears. She swallowed the pain that her mother had endured alone, never shedding a tear.
Aoba’s face lit up with joy. “I’m sure that’s it! Dr. Nikké, do you think this cat is Yuki’s kitten?”
“Well, who knows?” the doctor replied, playing dumb. “Cats are audacious and fragile, and have shorter lives than humans. But they multiply and they die out, and, perhaps, they might even return.”
